“Can they descend that way?” questioned the boy.
“It’s possible,” admitted Frank. “Show us where they are, Abe. Drop that torch and lose not a moment.”
The hunchback led the way, running on before them, and they followed him closely. As they came at length to the vicinity of the precipice, they saw through the pale starlight that Abe had spoken truly, for already long lariats had been spliced together, and, by the aid of these, which now dangled from the top of the precipice to the bottom, one of the men had already begun to descend. They saw the shadowy figure of his companions waiting above, and it seemed that the men did not dare trust themselves more than one at a time upon the spliced rope.
“We’ve got to stop that, Frank!” panted Dick.
“We will stop it,” said Merry. “Don’t attract attention. Let’s get nearer.”
They stole forward still nearer, watching the man as he came down slowly and carefully. This man had descended almost half the distance when a sudden rifle shot broke the stillness of the valley. Immediately, with a cry, the dark form of a man dropped like a stone.
Frank and his companions had been startled by the shot, but Merry instantly recognized the peculiar spang of the rifle.
“Old Joe!” whispered Merry.
As they stood there a silent figure came slipping toward them, and the old Indian stopped close at hand.
“Bad men no come down that way,” he said quietly. “Joe him shoot pretty good—pretty good. Joe him think mebbe he shoot four, five, six times, he might cut rope. Joe him shoot once, him cut rope. Joe him got rheumatism. Him pretty old, but him shoot pretty good.”